Implicuitque Animas
by Lady Silverbird
Summary: A strange anomaly transports the team into an alternate universe where they meet their opposite selves and see what their lives would've been like if things had turned out different as they struggle to find their way back home.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I'm not sure why, but the idea of alternate universes has always just intrigued me. I suppose I find it kind of fascinating, how one decision can have a ripple effect that changes how the whole thing turns out. So, I decided that it had to be written. Well...I didn't decide. The fandom tied me to a chair and said 'type it or we throw you through the anomaly'... Needless to say, ****I chose Door A. I promise I'm not that crazy. I'm only this crazy. That? Ha, that is all them.**

* * *

The team knew the moment that they stepped out of the Hilux that this was not a normal anomaly. A "normal anomaly" was a bit of a oxymoron, but they knew that this one was different from the others. An anomaly usually looked like a tiny sun, a shimmering orb of gold-white light surrounded by a rotating cloud of what looked like broken glass yet had no substance to it. The 'glass' surrounding this one was sparking and glinting as they whirled abnormally fast. Thin cords of lightning darted throughout it, and its colour was not the usual soft golden/ivory; nope, this anomaly glowed in hues of rose and pale violet, bathing them all in surreal light. "Well that is certainly new," said Cutter as he approached the temporal gateway, his boots sinking slightly into the rain-soft ground with each step. "Connor?"

The student was holding his old, slightly tarnished compass in one gloved hand, tipping his fedora back to scratch his head. "It's an anomaly, all right, but I never seen one that colour before, Prof." Both men hopped back a step as a particularly bright tongue of lightning crackled from the anomaly. "Or seen one do _that_ either. What do you think's wrong with it?"

Cutter took a slow step forward, intrigued by this odd anomaly but cautious about approaching; of course it did help that Jenny Lewis stood a step behind him, keeping a firm hold on his jacket and shirt collar with one manicured hand. "I wonder what causes the lightning. Perhaps some form of electrical discharge caused by the rapid shifting of the magnetic field? Hm..." he murmured to himself.

Jenny kept her hand secure on his collar as she instructed the Special Forces team to set a perimeter around the site and keep a sharp eye out for any creature activity or witnesses. As the soldiers moved off to obey, she gave Cutter's shirt a tug, forcing him to back up a step. "Don't get too close to it. I'd rather not have to do a stack of paperwork because you got electrocuted by a purple anomaly," she said firmly, but there was a faint note of concern in her voice. She didn't like how the professor seemed to attract dangerous situations simply by breathing in the vicinity of an anomaly, and she had no intention of attending a funeral anytime soon.

"Yeah..." Cutter's gaze remained fastened on the anomaly, almost longingly, like he was aching to just dive headfirst through and into the arms—or teeth—of whatever waited on the other side.

Stephen was walking around with slow, measured steps, bent at the waist as he studied the ground. "I'm not seeing any kind of tracks, Cutter. I really don't think anything's come through, unless it can fly," he announced and straightened up.

Abby took a step forward, standing at the tracker's elbow like a pale blond wraith. "It's such a pretty colour. I wonder what makes it look like that," she said quietly, watching the red-violet light shimmer and dance. The soft illumination made her near-white hair appear the same colour of the anomaly, and her eyes looked so blue they were nearly purple, much like Stephen's. Nobody else seemed to notice it, but that same flicker of longing passed through their eyes, much like Cutter, as if they wanted nothing more than to run through the temporal gateway to see what was on the other side. Even Jenny felt this strange sort of allure, a pull in her chest that seemed to whisper _just walk through. Just three steps, and you're on the other side. Three little steps is all..._. She shook her head as if to physically dislodge such thoughts. After what'd happened with the Silurian anomaly, she never wanted to see another team member step through an anomaly.

"I think it's closing, Prof," said Connor, and they all turned to look. The anomaly was starting to spin faster, lightning sparking off it faster as it pulsated. And all of them, inwardly, felt a surge of that painful longing once more, like it was begging them to come with before it closed. The gate began to close, but instead of collapsing in on itself and disappearing, the anomaly seemed to explode outwards in a huge flash of blinding white light. When the soldiers blinked the stars from their eyes, rubbing vigorously at their faces to clear their sight. The anomaly was gone.

So were the five core members of the team.


	2. Awakening

Jenny came to with a splitting headache, sharp, throbbing pain just behind her eyes pulsating with every beat of her heart. It almost felt as if someone had put the business end of a screwdriver to her temple and was now hammering it into her skull. She was lying on something cold, hard, and very uncomfortable, sore and aching all over the place. She also knew without opening her eyes that she was no longer in New Forest and was back in the city. She could hear car horns, rumbling engines, and people's voices. She could smell asphalt, rubber, car exhaust, grease from street vendors, and countless other scents that all blended together to form an odour that was simply defined as London. There was also a rather unpleasant scent in the air as well, one that made her nose wrinkle up in disgust. With a superhuman effort, she got her eyes open to see a strip of painfully blue sky between the sharp, clear-cut edges of buildings overhead. She turned her head and scowled as she saw trashbins less than two metres away, no doubt the scent of the horrible smell. And she could feel her hand wrapped around something soft-rough and warm, and she craned her neck around to see. Cutter lay beside her, her hand still gripping the collar of his shirt and coat in an iron grip. "Cutter," she said; her voice came out rough and throaty, like she'd been gargling sand. She swallowed hard and tried again. "Cutter!"

He stirred faintly and gave a soft groan. "Let me 'lone," he mumbled thickly.

Rolling her eyes, she released his jacket collar and swatted his shoulder. "Wake up, damn it!"

His lashes came apart, then closed just as quickly at the bright glare of sunlight. "Christ, what the hell happened?"

She winced as she sat up, her joints popping and muscles aching. God, it felt as if she'd slept in a tumble dryer overnight. "No idea, but we aren't in New Forest. How the hell did we end up here?" Jenny mused as she looked around. They were in an alleyway, just a few feet from the sidewalk, and she was grateful for the fact they hadn't somehow ended up in some prehistoric epoch surrounded by deadly creatures.

"Haven't the foggiest." Cutter stood up, rolled his shoulders, and offered her one hand, pulling her to her feet. "Where are the others?"

_The others._ She'd entirely forgotten, but when she looked around, she didn't see Connor, Abby, or Stephen anywhere, nor did she see any of the soldiers. "I dunno. I'm calling Lester," she said, taking out her mobile, but a small frown crossed her face. "It's not working. Why's it not—? It was fine this morning." She pressed the buttons, but the mobile seemed well and truly broken.

Cutter checked his own mobile and frowned. "Hm, mine isn't working either. Perhaps the anomaly's electromagnetic field fried them when it, erm...exploded," he said, fumbling for a proper word to describe what'd happened in the forest. "Well, we aren't going to accomplish much by standing here. C'mon." He placed a hand on her arm, drawing her out of the alley onto the sidewalk. After casting a fast glance around, he walked over to a nearby stand. "Well, it's still April 25th, still 2007, so at least we didn't travel anywhere else," he said quietly. "Come on, we'll hail a cab, head back to the ARC."

Jenny nodded, but she couldn't shake the feeling of something being wrong. She didn't know what it was yet, but the feeling was still there. It was a faint, uneasy sensation in the pit of her stomach, inherent knowledge that something was just...not _right._ It was almost like the feeling one had when not sure if the front door was locked, or if the stove was off, but much worse. She couldn't get rid of it. As he flagged down a taxi, she slipped her hand into his own, curling her fingers around his own; somehow, the contact helped to ease the _wrong_ feeling in her gut.

The professor glanced down at their joined hands, but he didn't say anything, squeezing her fingers lightly.

* * *

Detective Inspector Lilian Forsythe looked up from her newest case file as the door of her office swung open, but instead of DC Beckett or McKeown, she was greeted with the sight of her son. "Thomas, what are you doing here?" she asked, hastily closing the file before he could see any of the more gruesome crime scene photographs. "Why aren't you home?" she asked; any other parent would have asked why their 17-year-old wasn't in school at this time of day, but Thomas Forsythe didn't attend secondary school; he was already taking college classes, which had let out by now.

"Something is _wrong,"_ he whispered in a conspiratorial manner, shutting the door to her office as if scared they'd be overheard.

Lilian frowned. "What do you mean 'wrong', love?" Wringing his thin, gloved hands, Thomas shuffled around the small room, murmuring inaudibly and shaking his head without answering. She pushed to her feet, walked around the desk, and grasped his shoulders with careful hands, lightly pressing her thumbs into the hollows of his collarbone. "Come now, Tom-tom," she said, using her nickname for him, "calm down, tell me what's wrong. What bothered you? Is there something wrong at home?" She had to calm him down before he ended up having a panic attack here in the middle of the Yard. Thomas's autism had always set him apart from other people, but there were times that she truly believed he had some kind of clairvoyance. He often liked to help on cases—when she allowed it—and he was utterly brilliant. But, at the same time, it was his autism that made him so sensitive and excitable.

He took a deep breath, then another, and she could feel his pulse rate lowering. "That's a good lad. Now tell me what's wrong," she coaxed.

"At St. James' Park," he murmured, his eyes still slightly unfocused. "There is something out of its proper place. It must be returned."

"What does that mean?"

His hand came up, lightly trailing the backs of his fingers down her hair. She and Thomas had the same hair, thick and dark with a tendency to curl at the ends, just as they had the same sloe-black eyes. He'd not inherited much from his father, except for his lily-white complexion, a contrast to her darker olive toned skin. "We must go," he said softly. "St. James' Park. Thalia told me so."

Lilian paused then, her throat briefly going tight. "Did she? Well, then, come on. Let's go." As she picked up her keys, she used her other hand to fasten her badge on her belt. "Am I going to need backup?" she asked. She had four other detectives under her command: Damien Beckett, Jez McKeown, Owen Howard, and Nikki Reynholm. They were all good and loyal coppers, ones she trusted with her life.

Thomas paused, tilting his head to one side as if listening to a voice only he could hear. "Bring Damien. The others are annoying," he decided at last; she muffled a snicker at the casual way he said it. He called every one of her detectives annoying at least thrice in a week, but he never meant it, and they all knew it.

"Right then. Let's go."

* * *

**A/N: There's that chapter down, at long last. So, the team's woken up in the AU, they just don't know it yet. And to avoid confusion, everyone in the AU has different names than the people in the Primeval-verse. Let's see if you can match everyone up. Also, I'm sorry it took me forever to get this done, but I was suffering from the Block of Writer's and I had another multi-chapter fic that needed my attention. I'm still working on the other fic, so I probably won't be able to update regularly. Sorry!**


	3. Confusion

Stephen came to with his stomach in knots, his mouth dry, and his head pounding; it almost felt as if he'd spent a whole night doing some heavy drinking, and now he was waking up to the mother of all hangovers. He tried to sit up, but his muscles screamed in violent protest to any movement. He lay back against the grassy ground with a soft moan, slowly managing to pry open his aching eyes. The stark steely grey of clouds overhead made his headache worse, and he let his lashes fall closed, turning his head aside. He didn't need his eyes to tell him he was back in the city: he could hear cars and horns and faint sirens and people talking, all the general sounds of the city. With a great effort, he turned over on his side and started to push himself up, trembling with fatigue. On hands and knees, he managed to lift his head enough to see Abby lying nearby, stirring slightly on the grass as she groaned. He looked around, trying to recognise where he was, but his mind felt too thick and foggy to manage the simple task.

_What in the hell happened?_ Last thing he remembered, they were all in New Forest looking at the weirdest anomaly they'd ever seen—it'd been purple and full of lightning—and then there was absolutely nothing. He had the vague impression of an explosion and blinding light before unconsciousness blanked his memory, but that might've just been his imagination. Now how did he end up going from New Forest to a park in the middle of London? And where the hell was everyone else? He didn't see Cutter or Jenny or Connor, nor did he see a single black-clad soldier. _Oh...not good._ He crawled over to where Abby was starting to rise, gently shaking her by the shoulder. "Abby." Ugh, his voice sounded like sandpaper and nails. "Abby, wake up."

The tiny blond shifted slightly, lifting her head. "Ow. What in the name of God...?" she moaned, rubbing at her eyes and squinting. "What happened?"

"No idea. You alright?"

"Feel like I got a hangover, but yeah, I'm not hurt."

Stephen got to his feet, somewhat unsteadily, and helped Abby up. They stood in the midst of a park, but there wasn't anyone nearby. The murderous headache was starting to fade away, and his nausea was easing off as well. As he looked around for any sign of the team, Stephen saw two cars pull up to the kerb. Two people got out and started walking straight towards them. For a half-second, he nearly thought it was Lester, sending some lackey to come fetch them, but then dread fell in his gut like a ten-tonne weight. "Abby," he said, reaching out to grasp her arm.

"Oh, of course," the lizard girl murmured.

Helen was approaching them with a strange man on her heels. Stephen felt a small frown come to his face as he took in the woman's ensemble. She wasn't wearing that ripped green jumpsuit and old knapsack. She wore jeans and a green blouse, and her hair was much longer than it had been, curling past her shoulders and midway down her back. "My God, Talbot, I didn't think you actually came out during the daytime," she said, arms folded across her chest as she stared at Stephen with a strange expression that was partly irritation and partly exasperation. "What are you doing out here? Hustling schoolgirls out of their lunch money?"

He felt this odd compulsion to glance over his shoulder and see who she was talking to. "What are you playing at?" he asked. "Are you talking to me?"

She didn't seem very pleased by his answer, and the scowl on her face deepened. She gave a sigh, but it sounded strange, partly exasperation and partly irritation, surely nothing he'd expected from her. She looked to the man at her side, a tall, wide-shouldered bloke with a shock of very ginger hair; he'd been looking at Stephen with that same mix of irritation and exasperation, though his gaze also bore a healthy dose of, well, _disgust._ Stephen had never seen the bloke before in his life. The man took a step forward. "It's up to you, mate. Either get in the car nice and calm, or I'll shove you in there myself," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the cars behind him.

"Wait a minute, what the bloody hell is going on here?" Abby demanded at last. "Who the hell are you, and why would we go anywhere with you at all?"

The man arched one eyebrow in her direction. "Don't make me arrest you too, Tinker Bell," he said, placing both hands on his hips; the motion pushed open his jacket slightly, revealing to them the silver handcuffs on his belt beside a NSY badge.

"Too? Hang about, what am _I_ being arrested for? Helen, what the hell have you done?" Stephen demanded, flicking his gaze to her once more.

She frowned. "Helen? Why are you calling me Helen?"

"Because that is your _name,"_ answered Abby before he could open his mouth. "You're Helen Cutter, the biggest evil bitch to ever live!" The tiny blond looked enraged, her hands clenched and eyes blazing. She felt like roadkill, the team was nowhere in sight, now Helen and some lackey were threatening to arrest them; she liked to think she was a patient woman, but everyone had a line.

The man looked astounded, and Helen—though Stephen was getting a nagging feeling that it _wasn't_ her—looked both shocked and offended at the same time. "Right then. Beckett, cuff Talbot. You are now both under arrest," she said briskly striding forward, reaching for her belt.

The tracker felt a stone drop into his gut when he saw Helen reach down and take a pair of handcuffs off her belt, right where they rested beside a police badge. He couldn't even speak as the ginger man, Beckett, pulled both hands behind his back and cuffed his wrists together. As they approached the two cars—cop cars, he realised now, he saw another familiar face peering from the front seat of one, watching them with a small smile on his face. "Connor? What in the bloody hell is going on?" he called out.

The young man grinned.


	4. Interrogation

Abby felt as if she'd just fallen into her own personal episode of _The Twilight Zone. _Everything was just...wrong. Her head was starting to hurt, and it wasn't from the magical exploding anomaly, either. She had been arrested by Helen Cutter—who didn't seem to actually be Helen Cutter, as insane as it sounded—and apparently, Connor was in league with her. God, what was happening to her life? She bowed her head forward and pressed her forehead against her hands, eyes tight closed. "This is insane," she said quietly.

"Tell me about it," said Stephen from beside her. "What the hell is happening? Did you see her face when we called her Helen? She kept staring at us like we were crazy, like she'd never heard it before. And she didn't even seem to _recognise_ you at all." The tracker shook his head. He started to run a hand back through his hair and sighed as it pulled on his handcuffs. They were both cuffed to chairs in an otherwise empty interrogation room, not entirely sure of what was going on or what they were going to do next. The ginger bloke that'd brought them in—wasn't his name Beckett?—had confiscated their mobiles, keys, and wallets, so it wasn't as if they could call anybody for help. Abby felt like screaming in frustration.

The door opened, and they both looked up. The not-Helen woman walked in, pulling out the chair across from theirs and sitting down. She had a file under one arm, and she set it on the table beside her elbow. "So, which one of you would like to begin?" she asked coolly. Her gaze went to Stephen first. "Talbot?"

"Why do you keep calling me that? My name is Stephen, Stephen Hart. You know that, Helen," he answered.

"Okay, first of all, my name is Lilian Forsythe, but you can just call me Detective Inspector."

Abby clenched her fists. "What did you do to Connor?" she hissed through her teeth. If this harpy had so much as _touched_ her flatmate, there was going to be serious hell to pay.

'Lilian' glanced towards the blond woman, one eyebrow lifting. There was no flicker of recognition in her eyes, nothing in her expression to indicate that she even knew who Abby was. "Who?" she asked, sounding entirely clueless.

"Connor! You had him in your car! What did you do to him?" Abby nearly shouted, wishing that she wasn't handcuffed so she could strangle this infuriating woman.

"His name isn't Connor. That was Thomas, my son," answered the other woman.

Stephen and Abby both simply stared at her, not entirely sure if either could believe what they'd just heard. It was the tracker who recovered first. "Your what?" he asked at last.

* * *

Lilian was starting to wonder if heroin had rotted Talbot's brain the rest of the way, if maybe he'd shot up one too many times.. He'd been arrested so many times he knew every one of her detectives by name, yet he called her 'Helen' and claimed not to know who her son was, called him 'Connor'? This was getting ridiculous. But at the same time, there was just something...off about him. The man in front of her had the same face as Niles Talbot, but he was different. His hair was much darker, his clothes didn't look as if they'd been pulled from a trashbin, and he didn't have that unhealthy, sickly look of an addict about him. He looked more like an athlete, the kind of bloke that women pined for. And the blond...Lilian had never seen the petite little woman in her entire life, yet Tinker Bell had shouted at her with unmistakable hatred and called her an evil bitch. What in the world was going on here? She had already run both their IDs through the database, but there was no record of anyone named Abigail Maitland or Stephen Hart anywhere, which meant they were aliases...but why did they keep calling her 'Helen'? She _hated_ that name. Part of her wondered if Thomas knew what they were playing at; she would have to ask him later.

"Thomas. My son," she repeated. The look of shock on both their faces would have been utterly hilarious in any other situation. "Are you really saying that you don't know who I am? That you don't know who Thomas is?"

The duo hastily shook their heads.

She leant back in her chair to study them both. There was absolutely nothing to suggest a lie. After almost ten years as a copper, she had fine-tuned her own ability to read into body language, to track certain responses—or the lack of—to catch suspects in a lie. Usually it was something small, like a tell in a poker match. A twitch of the fingers, a tense of the shouders, a hundred different little signs that practically screamed out _liar, liar, pants on fire._ But neither one of them seemed to be lying. That meant one of two things: either A) they were incredibly good liars or B) they were telling the truth. They didn't know who she was, or who her son was, except by that horrid name they kept calling her.

Lilian folded both arms over her stomach. "Alright. I'm listening. Explain."

* * *

"This is..impossible," whispered Jenny.

She and Cutter stood in front of the ARC...or rather, what was _supposed_ to be the ARC. Instead of the bleeding-edge government facility, a tall, imposing building that seemed to be made entirely out of windows with its guarded front gate and security detail of black-clad SAS forces, there was just a half-finished construct in the middle of a construction site. Deserted tools and pipe lay all around, sheets of black tarp fluttering in the chilled wind. A thick grey overcast had blotted out the sun, providing a decidedly gloomy feel to the abandoned site. There were no cars, no soldiers, no scientists. Just them and a few pigeons roosting in the building's shell. Jenny glanced over at the professor; his face was set into an unreadable, stony expression. "Nick?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," he replied. "I don't. The only explanation I have...is that the anomaly, it somehow sent us to an alternate timeline, a timeline where the ARC doesn't exist and—" His voice abruptly cut off, and a flicker of hope crossed his expression. "Claudia Brown," he murmured softly.

Jenny's gaze snapped up to him, about to shout at him for calling her by the wrong damn name _again_, but he spoke before she had the chance. "We may be back in Claudia Brown's timeline," he said. "Come on, we need to get to the Home Office."


	5. Lost

"Nick, are you sure this is a good idea?" Jenny murmured softly. "If you go in there and ask about a woman that might not exist, they're going to think you're crackers."

"I'll be fine," he answered, though his tone was somewhat vague, as if he wasn't really listening to her at all.

She wanted to say more but held her tongue, folding both arms and leaning back into the seat, aware that she probably looked like a petulant child. A part of her was actually hoping that when they got to the Home Office, there would be no trace of anyone named Claudia Brown. She was terrified, actually. Because if 'Claudia' did exist, then she would be living, breathing proof that Cutter wasn't off his rocker at all, that there really was a change in the timeline...and that Jenny really was some reincarnation of the woman he had lost. And as scared as she was, she was also, insanely enough, jealous. It seemed that every time she thought she might be getting closer to him, that maybe there could be something there other than just the typical coworker relationship, Claudia Brown would somehow manage to get between them, renewing that dread that Cutter didn't like her for any other reason other than the physical resemblance. It was utterly maddening.

Cutter couldn't help but to notice the sudden silence beside him, and he glanced over at Jenny. To his surprise, she looked quite put out, arms folded, staring out the window. For a moment, he wondered what was the matter with her, and then realisation came up and struck him across the face. _Oh, you stupid git,_ he scolded himself. She had always upset at the mention of Claudia before, and why should now be any different than that? He probably hadn't helped the situation, either, ignoring her entirely. "Jenny," he said quietly, and her gaze only briefly flickered to his face before returning to the window. Yeah, she was upset with him. "Jenny, I'm sorry."

She turned to look at him once more, eyebrows lifting. "For what?"

"For being an insensitive clout," he answered, much to her amusement. The corners of her lips curled up. "I imagine you aren't as...eager to find out about Claudia as I am," he said.

"Understatement."

"And I'm sorry that I was being stupid about it."

Jenny lifted one eyebrow, eyeing him for a moment, then sighed and shook her head. "It's alright. It's just...if she is real...then what does that make me?" she wondered, looking down at her hands.

"It makes you Jenny Lewis," he answered honestly. "Just because you look like her doesn't mean you are any more or any less than yourself."

"Be careful, Nick, your inner wisdom is showing." She couldn't resist but tease him, even now. It was a familiar dance, one they both knew the steps to, accepted and routine. And a bit of normality was comforting in this madhouse situation.

He rolled his eyes, though a smile pulled at his mouth. However, the smiles went away in a heartbeat as the taxi pulled up to the kerb. "We're here," he said quietly.

* * *

Lilian leant back in her chair, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, eyes closed. "Okay. So...just for the sake of clarity, let me recap. You two...are dinosaur wranglers that have accidentally found a way into some kind of...alternate timeline, or some such thing, through a tear in the space-time continuum called 'anomalies,' which is why you thought that Thomas and I were people that we're not, because we're some kind of doppelganger, mirror image to the people in _your_ timeline?" she asked, opening her eyes to look at the two people across from her.

_Wow, it sounds so impossible when you say it like that,_ Stephen thought wryly. "Yes," he said, wondering when they were going to be chucked into the loony bin for this. "And why you thought that I was someone I'm not."

She groaned softly, resting her elbow on the table and pressing her forehead against her hand. "Why...why do I always end up with the crazy ones?" Lilian murmured softly. Stephen no longer thought of her as Helen. The resemblance was un-bloody-canny, but this woman was definitely not his best mate's insane wife. She lacked that almost-predatory air, didn't have the same coldness in her eyes.

All three looked up as the door opened, and Connor—no, _not_ Connor—Thomas walked in. This boy seemed a younger than the geek that Stephen knew. Not a whole lot younger, but still younger. He still wore the strange, eccentric clothing, complete with waistcoat, scarf, and fingerles gloves, but there was a very...peculiar look in his eye, one that Stephen couldn't quite place. He walked over to Lilian and bent until his chin rested on her shoulder; the show of affection appeared strange, but only because the tracker was used to seeing animosity between them. He murmured something in her ear, but neither of them could hear what he'd said. The DI let out a long sigh, eyes closing. "You cannot tell me you really believe this, Tom-tom," she said quietly; he nodded. She groaned. "Fine, fine." Thomas beamed as he straightened up. Lilian rose, walked around the table, and unlocked their handcuffs. "Let me make something perfectly clear. You two are going to stay in sight at all times or I'll have you thrown in the cage," she said, the tone of her voice saying that she expected nothing less than complete obedience. 'The cage' was the temporary lockup in the station where all the lowlifes were tossed until they made bail, their scumbag lawyers arrived, or they were processed. It currently housed a shoplifter with sticky fingers, a drunk that'd had one too many and started a brawl, and a suspected pervert arrested for dropping his trousers in the middle of the Underground. "You said that you think your mates came here with you. Where do we start looking?" she asked, hands on her hips.

"Let's start with the ARC," Abby replied.

* * *

_The universe hates me. It's a fact, I know it is,_ thought Connor as he shivered and trembled in the cold. Of all the bloody places he had to end up, of course he would end up in the middle of a forest, by himself, at night, in the bloody _rain!_ God only knew where the others were, if they were even in the same bloody county. Or time period. He didn't know what'd happened, except that the weird purple anomaly had somehow..._exploded_ was the only real adjective that fit, he blacked out and woke up all by his lonesome in the middle of nowhere. He had no idea where he was, his mobile was fried—no doubt due to the electromagnetic field from the purple anomaly—and he was feeling rather close to despair. No food, no water, nothing. All he had was his tarnished old compass, but fat lot of good _that_ did him seeing as how he didn't even know which direction lead to civilisation.

As he trudged on through the darkness, a branch suddenly decided to shiver and shake off a fresh cascade of cold water onto his head. Connor groaned softly under his breath, shivering as droplets of cold water trickled down the back of his neck. _What did I do to deserve this?_ he thought miserably. Lifting his head, he saw a faint light through the trees ahead, gone as soon as it'd come; the faint sound of tyres on wet pavement reached his ears. _Is that a road? Please, please, tell me that's a road,_ he prayed to whatever deity was listening, willing his aching limbs to move faster, heading in the direction the light had come from.

Abruptly the trees ended, and he was standing in tall grasses. And right in front of him was a road. Connor heaved a sigh of relief. Even if there wasn't a car in sight, at least now he knew which way to go. Roads had to lead somewhere, right? Pulling up his jacket hood, he started walking down the side of the road, keeping a wary eye out for any approaching vehicles.


End file.
